


Drum Kiss

by dionvsia



Series: Band Geeks [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - 90s, Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 04:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13539321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dionvsia/pseuds/dionvsia
Summary: Ling smiles against his lips,“Shut up, for once, Elric.”





	Drum Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Little AU i thought of with one of my friends on tumblr, which we've dubbed the "band geeks au", in which everyone's in the high school orchestra. Exactly what it says on the tin.

The school was relatively quiet, devoid of both students and staff this late after hours. It was ominus, and frankly kinda freaky, and Edward didn’t like it. 

“I can’t believe she made us stay this late,” He said, glaring at the other boy walking beside him. “It wasn’t even my fault.” 

“Excuse me,  _ who _ pushed  _ who _ into the drum kit again?” Ling asks, throwing his arms out and glaring back. 

Ed just crossed his arms and broke eye contact, finding that staring at the mismatched floor tiles was much more distracting than he’d like to admit. Who the hell had designed this school anyway? Green and beige did  _ not _ go together and it was pissing him off now, almost as much as Ling was pissing him off. 

It wasn’t his fault that Ling had decided it was a good idea to blow all the spit out of his instrument onto Ed’s feet, who the fuck does that? Saxophone players, apparently. So Ed had punched him, and then pushed him over into the drum kit they were supposed to be lugging out into the gym for this evening’s concert.

“Where the hell is the door to the attic anyway?” Ling asked. 

“Should be around here somewhere.” 

And now they were supposed to go digging in the school’s attic for the spare bass drum, since Ling’s foot had made pretty good friends with the one they were  _ supposed  _ to use tonight. 

The further they walked, the more Ed felt unsettled. He’d been here after school before, but being alone without a teacher was different. Izumi had gone home, telling them that she’d be back at six thirty and expects them to have set everything up by then - he didn’t want to think about what she’d do if they  _ didn’t _ have everything set up by then. 

“Oh, there it is,” Ed says, finally finding the sign that says “Upper Storage” on it beside a locked door. 

He pushes the key into the lock and turns it, which the lock apparently doesn’t agree to because all it does is stay still. 

“Fuck.”

Ed fumbles with the keychain, that has a  _ million _ different keys on it with labels that are way too tiny for Edward to read. 

“Give me them,” Ling says, reaching out for the keyring. 

Ed pulls his arm back and turns, “Fuck off, I can find it.” 

He tries another one, and another, and then a third before he groans and pushes the keys out towards Ling. 

“Here, whatever.” 

Ling takes them without arguing, and finds the right key on the first try. He opens the door - which creaks in a way that freaks Ed out even more - and starts up the stairs, not bothering to hold it open for the blond. 

The stairwell also freaks Ed out, because there’s no lights at the bottom and he has to squint at the steps to make sure he doesn’t do a header forwards. Busted teeth right before the first concert of the school year  _ wasn’t _ what he had in mind for his junior year.

“Do you think anybody’s every died up here?” Ling asks, clinging to the railing and walking slowly.

Ed rolls his eyes. “The school opened like, 10 years ago I’m sure we would know if somebody died in the attic.” 

“Eh, it’s a valid question.” 

“Do  _ you _ want to be that person, is that why you’re asking?” 

Ling stops, making Ed bump into his back and curse. 

“What the fuck-” 

“What if someone is up here and they’re gonna kill us?” 

“I hope so at this rate! Keep walking!” 

Ling scoffs and turns around. “Is that what you want your last words to be?” 

“Why can’t you be normal for five fucking seconds.” Ed shoves past him, walking up the stairs in front of Ling and scowling. 

He thinks about how he could’ve gone home and had a normal fucking dinner with Al and then come back to an already-set-up gym with lots of snacks he could steal after the show - but instead he’s stuck with  _ Ling Yao _ and has to lug a bunch of stupid drums down these stairs after and bring them all the way back to the main floor gym. 

Finally, they reach the attic and get the light on, flooding the space with fluorescent lighting and making it slightly less creepy than before. It was a fairly big room, filled with what he assumes is the heating system as well as multiple roof-high shelves filled with bins and cardboard boxes.

“Where did she say the drums were again?” Ed asks, walking along one of the shelve aisles and squinting at the boxes. 

He could barely read them, most of the scrawled words too small to make out.

“They’re over here,” Ling calls. 

The taller man was behind another aisle, reaching up to take the bass drum down. “Didn’t she ask us to bring the rest of them down too?” 

“I think so,” Ed says, looking around for the boxes containing the rest of the drum set. “I don’t see them.” 

Ling frowns and raises an eyebrow, pointing beside Ed. “They’re right there, can’t you read?” 

Ed just scowls, turning to take one of the boxes Ling had pointed to off the shelf. “Fuck off.” 

“Hey, I was just asking a question, asshole.” 

“Whatever.” 

Ling puts the bass drum down and puts his hands on his hips. “Why don’t you wear glasses if you’re obviously blind? Is that why you can’t read sheet music for shit?” 

“Once again, fuck off.” Ed puts the box down, reaching up for another. “It’s none of your business, and I  _ can _ read sheet music perfectly fine.” 

He stacks the boxed-up snare and cymbals on top of one of the toms, pulling another tom out to stack on top of those. Honestly, Ed didn’t know how the fuck they were going to get all this stuff down the stairs. 

“Why isn’t it any of my business?” Ling asks, sitting on the bass drum. 

Ed clenches his jaw. “Because it isn’t any of your business, Ling. Grab the other tom for me, it’s too heavy.” 

“Y’know,” Ling says, pulling the smaller tom off the shelf and sitting it on the bass drum. “You aren’t very nice to me. What’ve I ever done to you?” 

“You annoy me, Ling. You never shut the fuck up.” Ed slams another box of cymbals down on the stack in front of him. “Stop acting like I’m your friend.” 

It’s quiet for a few minutes, and Ed can’t help but feel a little bit guilty for being rude. But then again, he doesn’t give a shit, because Ling is fucking annoying and he shouldn’t care if he hurt the guys feelings or not. 

Ling, somehow, moves around the pile of drums swiftly enough to throw an arm around Ed’s shoulders before the blond can move away. 

“C’mon, I thought we were friends.” 

To his credit, it’s mostly instinct that makes Ed throw an elbow out to hit Ling in the stomach, causing the other boy to collapse on the floor groaning. 

“Shit,” Ed says, leaning down. “Sorry, fuck.” 

Ling just groans, before reaching up and hitting Ed across the head with an open hand. “Fuck off, that wasn’t nice.” 

Ed falls forwards and hits his head against one of the drums, cursing and trying to reach out to hit Ling back. He lands a hit on Ling’s shoulder easy enough, which causes the other boy to punch him in the chest and knock the wind out of him. 

“What the fuck, Ed.” 

“Fuck off,” Ed says, coughing and trying to push himself up onto his elbows. Once he’s up, Ed lunges forwards and lands on top of Ling. “Why the fuck are you hitting me!” 

“Because you’re hitting me!” Ling yells, trying to push Ed off and succeeding, flipping them so he’s on top of the blond. 

He pushes his feet against Ed’s arms so the shorter boy can’t hit him again, sitting across his stomach and trying to catch his breath. 

“Jesus, you’re such a freak, Edward.” Ling says, leaning forwards and resting his head against the cold floor. “I try and be nice and you punch me in the stomach.” 

“Get off of me.” 

“And then you punch me in the arm, I need that for tonight!” 

“You hit me in the head!” 

“Tell me why you don’t have glasses,” Ling says, leaning back up. “Why the fuck did you get pissy?” 

“It’s none of your business, get off me.” 

“No,” Ling says, leaning back up so he’s looking at Ed. “You hit me first, so you owe me an explanation.” 

“I hit you by accident!” 

“You still hit me! Now tell me!” 

Ed ground his heels into the floor and tried pushing Ling off, glaring up at the boy while his hair fell into Ed’s face. He couldn’t help the blush starting high on his cheeks, from the fighting, from being so close to Ling. He hated it. Ed didn’t want to  _ blush _ , he wanted to punch Ling in the head. 

“Because I don’t want to wear them,” Ed said. “They’re tacky and make me look stupid. Now get off me.” 

Ling just laughs, pushing his bangs behind his ears. “I think you’d look cute with glasses on.” 

“Fuck off,” Ed says, feeling the blush on his cheeks get darker. What the fuck. He hadn’t just said that, had he? What the fuck… 

“I’m serious.” Ling laughs, smirking. He brushes Ed’s bangs out of his face. “You’re pretty cute without them, too. I mean, for a trumpet player.” 

“Hey, screw you. Trumpets are important.” Ed stumbles over the words, his stomach starting to feel weird. What the hell is Ling doing, fighting with him and then flirting with him. Talk about whiplash. 

The taller boy trails fingertips down Ed’s cheek and laughs again, leaning down a bit more. “Do you wanna make out?” 

“I want you to get off of me,” Ed says, trying to pull his hands out from under Ling’s calves. 

Ling just shrugs and moves off Ed, finally letting the blond sit up and cough. Ed cracks both his wrists and glares sideways at the other boy, thinking about what he’d just asked more than he probably should.

And fuck it, if Ed isn't impulsive - and he'll probably regret it later - but he pushes himself up onto his knees and grabs Ling by the collar of his shirt, pressing their lips together.

It's so not-romantic, or even sensual - Ed just nips at Ling’s mouth, a mix between biting and kissing - but Ed sighs when the taller boy pushes his fingers into his messy braid.

“What was that about making out, you bastard?” Ed breathes out, moving his hand from Ling’s collar to his neck, pushing them back together again. 

His leg was cramping up, but he ignores it in favour of licking into Ling’s mouth, running his tongue along the roof of the other boys mouth. He slows the kiss down, letting his tongue lick against Ling’s teeth while the other boy groaned into his mouth.

Ling smiles against his lips, running his left hand down Ed’s back and pulling him into his lap. 

“Shut up, for once, Elric.” 

  
  


-

  
  


They manage to get both drum kits set up by the time Izumi shows up, finishing at six fifteen and spending the next quarter-hour making themselves more presentable - Ed fixing his hair and putting on his sports jacket, Ling buttoning his collar the rest of the way up to hide what they’d been doing the hour previous. 

At exactly six-thirty, Izumi walks through the front door with Alphonse, walking under the “1993 Fall Cabaret” banner into the gym, bundle of scores under her arms and a pleased look on her face. 

“So, the two of you are still alive?” 

Ed crosses his arms. “What did you expect?” 

“For you to kill our only soprano saxophone player and hide his body,” Izumi deadpans, stepping around tables and climbing the steps to the stage. 

Al trailed behind her, carrying his bag and a tupperware container, handing the latter to Ed and smiling. “I brought you dinner, granny made stew.” 

“Fuck yeah,” Ed says, “Thanks, Al.” 

The two of them walk backstage, Ed heading for the microwave while Al starts pulling his instruments off the shelf to set up. Ed felt warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with his little brother bringing him dinner - and he didn’t know what to do with it. 

He doesn’t expect Al to walk up to him and pull the collar of his shirt down, scaring the fuck out of him and almost yelling into Ed’s ear. 

“You made out with Ling!” Al whisper-yells, turning Ed around by the shoulders and staring at him with wide eyes. 

“What?” Ed stutters, “No I didn’t, what the fuck.” 

Al presses against one of the bruises on Ed’s neck and smirks, raising an eyebrow. “You totally did.” 

“Fuck off, let me eat my food.” Ed bats away his brothers hands, “Go put together your stupid french horn.” 

Al backs off and laughs, keeping his eyes on Ed as he pulls his case off the floor onto one of the tables. 

“We’re doing the orchestra set first, I’m on cello.” He giggles. “And you’re on Ling.” 

“Shut the  _ fuck _ up,” Ed grits his teeth. “If Winry hears your she’ll never let me hear the end of it.” 

Al just keeps laughing, playing with the mouthpiece on his horn and leaning back against the table. 

Ed, on the other hand, feels like he wants to die. 

At least the concert was only two hours. All he wanted to do right now was go to sleep. 

But first, he was going to play as  _ loud _ as possible into the back of Alphonse’s head through the entire set. 


End file.
